


A Veil of Volleyball

by ClosetedFruit



Series: A Veil of Volleyball [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Canon compliant-ish, Character Development, F/M, FemKageyama, Genderbending, Genderswap, How is this a slow burn when the prequel was a slow burn, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kissing, M/M, Multi, POV Hinata Shouyou, POV Kageyama Tobio, POV Oikawa Tooru, Pining, Porn With Plot, Sex, Slow Burn, Third Year Hinata Shouyou and Kageyama Tobio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:27:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27609698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClosetedFruit/pseuds/ClosetedFruit
Summary: Kageyama's best friend thinks she is a guy. Hinata's best friend doesn't know about his feelings. Oikawa's best friend thinks he needs to stop being an asshole but will settle for Oikawa not throwing his life away.Kageyama, Hinata, and Oikawa discover that lust, life, and friendship get tangled all too easily.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Kageyama Tobio/Oikawa Tooru
Series: A Veil of Volleyball [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/433501
Comments: 20
Kudos: 81





	1. Hinata I

_Hinata, Elementary School: Grade 5_

Hinata was ten years old when he realized his family was poor. Looking back, he should have figured it out sooner—he always was given second-hand clothes from neighbors and distant cousins, school lunches were always packed, and his younger sister, Natsu, was often left with neighbors who smelled like alcohol while his mother worked. But he always had food, he always had his family. Poor people lived on the streets and begged for food. Poor people did drugs or were just crazy. Poor people didn’t live in cozy homes surrounded by loved ones.

Hinata learned he was poor when the landlady knocked on their apartment’s door requesting money. “One more month,” his mother promised. His mother had promised the same the month before and the month before that, but the landlady was nice—she always nodded and wrote in her book and tracked when his mother would bring the payment to her office in small increments. Sometimes when his mother was out doing deliveries on the weekends, the landlady would let him and Natsu sit with her in her office as long as he helped sort her books.

This time, the landlady said, “We’ve found another renter. You have ten days to pack and leave or I will have to file with the courts.”

The landlady had never come when Hinata’s father still lived with them, but his father had left three years ago with a suitcase and a scowl. “Good riddance,” his mother had said. But after, Hinata received fewer toys and his mother was around less and less. Then the landlady started knocking.

Hinata and his mother spent the next four days packing—it was summer break, Hinata skipped playing soccer and basketball with his friends to get his hands sticky with packing tape and reassure Natsu her stuffed animals would be comfy in the boxes. His mother was gone all day for the next four days; she returned tired and grumpy in the evenings, and Hinata made dinner for her—except the one day their neighbor, Nobuki-sama, dropped off hot stew for the whole family.

On the fifth day, Hinata’s mother returned early and cheerful, wearing a wide straw had she hadn’t had before. A man in a truck came by the next day and they loaded up the boxes.

The drive took only twenty minutes, but the road climbed up a large hill Hinata had never seen before. At the top, he saw miles and miles of farm, sprinkled with small clusters of houses—very unlike the metropolis behind him.

They moved into a duplex at the base of the hill; it had more space than their old apartment, but was draftier and smelled funny. There were a few kids playing in the street, but there was no playground or baseball field like in their old neighborhood.

Hinata’s mother took Hinata and Natsu with her on her delivery route later that day—it would be quick, Hinata could help carry groceries after, and Hinata’s mother promised ice cream, a rare treat in their household. The drive took a long time, especially as they came into the thick traffic in downtown Sendai, but his mother eventually stopped at an electronics store and picked up several boxes of video equipment, which were carefully loaded into their van.

They drove back through downtown Sendai to a large office building—probably the largest in all of Sendai. It even had a screen playing advertisements for chewing gum and television shows Hinata had never heard of; Hinata hatched a plan to get away with watching that really cool one with the robots and machine guns, even though he knew his mother would never want him to watch anything that violent. Hinata’s mother went inside, but returned shortly, grumbling about how someone should have been around to help her. She had Hinata help her bring in the boxes while Natsu stayed in the van, strapped into her car-seat so she wouldn’t climb into the front seat and turn off the air conditioning (she was known for touching everything, especially when no adults or older brothers were around).

The office was pristine and high tech—Hinata had never seen so many new TVs in one place, and that was just the lobby! He couldn’t imagine what the president’s office must look like—maybe wall to wall screens or a chair that floated or—

“Hinata, come on,” his mother said, holding the elevator door with one hand and a box with the other. Obliged, Hinata followed her into the elevator. He shifted his box the best he could when he got into the elevator so that he could watch everything whirl by: the elevator had a glass window on the side opposite of the elevator doors.

The elevator settled onto a high floor, but not the highest. Hinata heard what sounded like an argument, which only became louder when the elevator doors opened.

A man in a dark suit with graying hair wearing a snarl like it was a badge yanked the red tie of a boy with brown, curly hair. The boy was tall—maybe a few years older than Hinata—and was wearing a blue school uniform Hinata didn’t recognize. The man pulled the tie upward with such force that the boy looked as if he was struggling to breath; he had one hand wrapped around the man’s wrist and another at his neck, where the tie had to be digging into his skin.

In a smooth shift, the man patted the tie down and adjusted the tie-knot at the boy’s neck. “How many times do I have to tell you, keep your tie on when we’re in the office,” the man said firmly. Hinata blinked, wondering if he might have imagined the strangling.

The boy, his eyes watery, but not a tear shed, glared at the man with such hatred, Hinata thought the man’s tie might turn on it’s wearer from the boy’s sheer willpower. But the man patted the boy on the back, and the boy left down the office hall without another word.

The man shrugged at Hinata’s mother. “Kids,” he said. “You can put those in this empty office.” He opened a door and motioned for them to drop the boxes.

Hinata’s mother was very quiet as she dropped the box and carefully stacked Hinata’s next to her own. Normally, she was very chatty on the deliveries Hinata had seen. Instead, she shuffled Hinata quickly back to the elevator and then to the van.

“Stay here with your sister,” she insisted. She carried the rest of the boxes in on her own.

Hinata wondered what happened to the boy in the blue uniform. He looked up at the office window and wondered if the boy might be looking down at him. He gave the window a wave and convinced Natsu to do the same.

Waving his hands covered their shaking.

When his mother finally finished unloading the van, she climbed into the driver’s seat, slammed her door shut, and drove without saying anything. “Mom?” Natsu asked.

“Give me a minute to drive.”

When they arrived at the ice cream shop, Hinata’s mother pulled the van into a space on the far side of the parking lot, away from the other cars. She unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to face Hinata and Natsu.

“If anyone, and I mean anyone, ever hurts you or bullies you or touches you in a way you don’t like, I want you to scream and cry as loud as you can and tell me as soon as possible.” She looked at Hinata directly, her brown eyes stern and angry. Hinata knew it wasn’t directed at them, but Natsu flinched. “What that man did was disgusting and unacceptable, and I’m going to report him.”

She gave them money for ice cream and shooed them out of the car.

Hinata bought Natsu vanilla and red bean flavored for himself—the smallest of scoops because there wasn’t enough money for anything larger. They sat on a bench, watching their mother angrily wave her hands and yell at her phone in the driver’s seat of the van. Hinata had never seen her so upset.

“I want more,” Natsu complained. She pointed to a group of kids each with double scoops covered in sprinkles. “Why can’t we get that?”

“We’re lucky to have what we have,” Hinata said. He’d saved half of his ice cream to share with his mother so he took Natsu by the hand and led her back to the van. The van was more ragged than the other cars in the parking lot, but Hinata thought if families could shine like newly-washed cars, his would outshine them all.

* * * * * *  
_Hinata, Present_

Hinata was tired; he’d run from his house—some ten kilos away—met up with Kageyama about halfway and they ran, backpacks full of volleyball gear and all, towards Karasuno High School. But he’s split his shoes open on the gravel before he let the monster running beside him beat him in a race.

Yachi had once, last year, pointed out the race wasn’t fair: Hinata ran about four kilometers more than Kageyama and Kageyama had some 16 centimeters on him. Hinata had only pointed out Kageyama actually had 17.7 centimeters on him. Yachi had rolled her eyes.

“So we starting the count over?” Kageyama asked.

Hinata drove his legs into the ground harder—how did Kageyama not even sound winded? “No way!” He breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. “We’re dead even, tied 213 all. And we didn’t start over last year.”

Kageyama surged ahead, his longer legs having an advantage on the slight incline. “’Bout to be 214 to 213 then,” he said.

Hinata lifted his knees up. Kageyama was not going to win before the school year had even started. Karasuno High School was just ahead, completely void of the sounds of students chatting and bikes skidding into the parking lot, which gave Hinata ample room to crank up his speed without colliding with anyone.

He’d practiced sprints all winter just for this. It was a slight incline until about a hundred meters from the gym—then it was all downhill. Kageyama had maybe three strides on him. Hinata took four long strides to find his grove and then burst forward with all he had.

Kageyama must have noticed him when Hinata was one stride away because Kageyama’s strides suddenly became longer. If Hinata was a roadrunner—fast, low to the ground—Kageyama was some sort of gazelle.

But Hinata had momentum and practice on his side. He sprinted, his feet kicking up dirt and his breath coming up fast. He didn’t realize he’d beat Kageyama until he passed the finish-line rocks (rocks they’d moved back in first year near the gym door to designate the finish line for their races) and Kageyama wasn’t ahead. He finished right behind Hinata.

Hinata fell to his back, stretching out on the grass while Kageyama put his hands on knees—neither of them spoke for a moment, both trying to catch their breath.

Hinata found himself watching the sweat dripping from Kageyama’s hair, down his neck, under his shirt. _Hinata_ had won this round, gotten ahead of this majestic man—sometimes rival—friend. “I won,” he declared smugly.

Kageyama glared. “I’ll beat you tomorrow.”

Hinata swallowed as he looked at Kageyama’s dark eyes. Damn. Two weeks of not seeing Kageyama at all hadn’t been enough time for Hinata to stop imagining what it would be like to press his lips to Kageyama’s, to have Kageyama’s eyes watching him continuously. Then again, he hadn’t really tried to get over Kageyama these last two weeks. Hadn’t really tried in two years.

Kageyama smirked—an expression that at one time had scared the socks off of Hinata but now had a funny sort of allure. “I’ll beat you today, anyway, when I’m chosen as captain of the volleyball team.”

Hinata jumped up, suddenly energized. “No way, I’ll be captain.” He looked wildly up at the gym—were captains really chosen today? And who even chose? How did Daichi two years ago and Ennoshita last year even become captain?

But. Kageyama was a representative for the All-Japan Boys’ Volleyball team twice now. He won the best setter award last year in the Miyagi prefecture. He was composed during interviews and his quietness gave him an air of respectability to anyone who didn’t know him outside of practice. He was captain material.

Hinata didn’t have any awards—he was short and didn’t have that captain-ness, that woosh-bam factor that made Daichi and Ennoshita right for the position. He clenched his fists. “How do we decide?” Hinata asked.

The side-eye Kageyama gave Hinata would have terrified anyone who hadn’t been on the receiving end of Kageyama’s serves for two years. “You’re an idiot. Why do you think I wanted to race you here?”

“Uh, volleyball?” Hinata said—that’s what he and Kageyama did.

“Don’t you check your e-mail? Takeda-sensei invited all the seniors to talk before practices start to discuss logistics and first years and such, including who he’s chosen as captain—we don’t decide anything.”

“Do you think I’m too short to be captain?”

“Your brain is clearly short-circuiting.” Kageyama grabbed the back of Hinata’s shirt as he turned away from the gym. “Come on, Takeda-sensei’s meeting starts soon, we can practice after.”

Kageyama’s hand on the back of Hinata’s neck sent chills—the good kind, like when you hear your favorite song on the neighbor’s radio—down Hinata’s back. Kageyama must have seen something else in Hinata’s expression as he lightly pushed Hinata towards the school, because he growled, “And you’re not too short to be captain, idiot.”

For a moment, Hinata wondered if that was _affection_ he heard in Kageyama’s voice. But no, that was just Kageyama’s not-quite-baritone grumble, and Hinata was letting his imagination run wild again. The glower Kageyama was giving him was anything but affectionate.

“You know,” Hinata said. “I talked to Yamaguchi yesterday. Tsukki is already being scouted by the pros—has an offer to go practice with a team. So maybe coach will make him captain.”

Kageyama’s eyebrows shot up and he stuffed his hands into his gym short pockets. “That bastard.”

“Well, I won’t lose,” Hinata said, with confidence he didn’t quite feel. Actually, the thought of Tsukki being scouted already made him feel sick. Hinata was always climbing, always catching up, always just a few steps behind. Scouting felt… big. Like if he didn’t get scouted, he’d be falling behind everyone. They’d all be playing volleyball without him.

But Hinata had won today—and he would win again and again—he had to so he could stand on the volleyball court with Kageyama and Tsukki; sometimes, he just wished he’d been born taller so he could block better or born richer so he could have started volleyball earlier or maybe have bought better shoes.

Kageyama had gone awfully quiet. When Hinata had first met Kageyama, back at that first practice in the Karasuno gym, Kageyama was so stuck up, so full of himself and full of obnoxious setter demands that Hinata was sure Kageyama’s confidence was endless. It took a few volleyball matches for Hinata to get to know Kageyama well enough to learn Kageyama’s confidence was rather fickle and highly dependent on his nearly unreadable mood and the opponent. Luckily, Hinata had two years of learning to read Kageyama and could tell by his quietness and his furrowed eyebrows that he was sulking. “You’re not going to lose either,” Hinata said, elbowing Kageyama in the stomach, which prompted Kageyama to shove him back. “Remember, Olympics. World stage. I’m going to see you there.”

Kageyama looked up at the sky and kicked a rock as they walked. Maybe he was taking Tsukki’s offer really seriously, too.

“Did Tsukki accept the offer? What team?” Kageyama asked.

“The Nagano Tridents.” Hinata had looked them up immediately after he had gotten home after lunch with Yamaguchi. “And yeah, I think he’s travelling next week to go to a practice with them. They’re paying for the train ticket and everything. Man, I want to be scouted—I’d be so cool!” It suddenly dawned on Hinata that Kageyama probably had been scouted as well and maybe just didn’t want to break the news to Hinata—Kageyama had been listed as number four in the top high school setters in all of Japan in All Volleyball recently, even with their miserable showing at the Spring tournament last year. “Haven’t you been scouted?”

Kageyama provided Hinata with a glare that could only be interpreted as a solid, “No.”

“Well, you will be.”

They had reached the school entrance and Kageyama opened the door, smiling maniacally. Again, an expression that once terrified Hinata but now was somehow a major turn-on. He was so majorly fucked. “I’ll rub it in your face when I’m scouted first,” Kageyama said.

“I bet you your mom’s lunch that I’m scouted first,” Hinata fired back. Kageyama’s mother packed amazing bento boxes, complete with a variety of fish and neatly cut vegetables. Way tastier than the tofu, rice, and whatever vegetable was on sale Hinata packed most days.

“Only if you buy me milk for a week when I’m scouted first.”

“Deal.” It was only when they reached Takeda-sensei’s classroom that Hinata realized he’d have to figure out if he could even afford milk, or how many mornings of delivering newspapers that would cost. Hinata supposed he would just need to make sure he won so it wouldn’t be a problem.

Unsurprisingly, only Takeda-sensei was in the classroom, preparing for school’s start in two weeks, and Hinata took the opportunity to ask about the tournament schedule for the upcoming year while Kageyama scowled near by—or that’s what Hinata thought he was doing; it was always hard to tell with Kageyama… even with those two years of reading-Kageyama experience Hinata prided himself in.

Yamaguchi, Tsukki, Yachi, and Coach Ukai arrived shortly, and Takeda-sensei began the meeting before Hinata could give Yachi a hug or fist-bump Yamaguchi. Coach Ukai handed out a list of the Karasuno volleyball roster, with five names Hinata didn’t recognize highlighted—the incoming first years.

Kageyama raised his eyebrows and murmured something about “Takemoto Tsuyoshi” being rated as a top primary school wing spiker, known for his speed and killer cross-spike.

“Leading the effort to welcome and train up the first years will be Yamaguchi, this year’s captain of Karasuno,” Takeda-sensei announced. Yachi clapped enthusiastically. Hinata had only a moment to feel a mix of shame in not getting chosen and relief—at least it wasn’t Tsukki or Kageyama—when Takeda-sensei continued, “As well as Hinata, this year’s vice captain.”

Vice captain.

He was _vice captain_ , holy-macaroni, Coach and Sensei trusted Hinata enough to teach the first years and pass out warm-ups and whatever else it was that vice captains did. He turned to Yamaguchi to give him a thumbs-up, but Yamaguchi was looking at Takeda-sensei as if he’d grown a third arm and was using it to juggle volleyballs.

Tsukki slapped Yamaguchi on the back and that seemed to startle Yamaguchi into mumbling a thank you and shaking Takeda-sensei’s hand without prompt. Between reviewing the practice schedule and discussing the volleyball club’s budget, the rest of the meeting sped by, with Hinata spending the majority of the meeting staring out of the window at the street, chancing glances at Kageyama, and reminding himself he was _vice captain_ and needed to pay attention to Takeda-sensei.

Hinata was antsy by the end of the meeting, eager to get on with volleyball practice with Kageyama. As the team left the classroom, before Hinata could challenge Kageyama to another race to the gym (he was two for two today in wins and thought he should take advantage of this roll), Yachi exclaimed, “Let’s grab lunch to celebrate the new captain and vice captain.”

Yamaguchi blushed the color of a recently ripened tomato as Yachi began listing the food options nearby from a list on her phone. Tsukki grinned and said, “Yes, _captain_ , lead the way to lunch.”

Panic fluttered around Hinata’s stomach, the way it always started to bubble when he thought about having to explain how he couldn’t pay for lunch, or the train, or for the vending machine. Ok—he could do this—he would just suggest they go to practice first, right? Then it wouldn’t be weird that he’d brought his own lunch. And Kageyama would want to practice, he always wanted to practice just like Hinata did—

“You good?” Kageyama asked.

Hinata blinked rapidly. “Huh?”

“I thought—the vice captain thing—you—ugh.” Kageyama looked at the ceiling, muttered something Hinata couldn’t hear, and finally said, “Good job.”

“Thanks?” Hinata’s voice sounded squeaky to his own ears. He didn’t know why Kageyama was acting weird and not challenging him to a race or to a volleyball match, but he had to push through it and get out of this lunch. “So you want to—”

“—celebrate?” Kageyama asked at the same time, but Hinata missed the first half of what he said. Kageyama’s gaze was intense in a way that made the butterflies in Hinata’s stomach flap for reasons totally unrelated to his lunch-panic, and some of those butterflies were definitely making their way to other parts of Hinata’s body because his ears were tingling.

He couldn’t do this—the butterflies were too much and now his stomach was really upset and clearly Kageyama wanted lunch, not volleyball. “Bathroom,” Hinata said, forcing a smile. “I’ll catch up with you guys at the restaurant—save me a seat and text me where you are going!” He darted down the hall towards the men’s room before any of the others could get in a word, or worse, offer to stay with him.

Hinata thought he could feel Kageyama’s gaze burning into his backside and was sure he heard Tsukki murmur to Yamaguchi, “I bet you a rice ball he’s not back until after we’ve finished eating” as Hinata jogged away from the team, but he didn’t care. He slammed the bathroom door open, hung his bag up in a stall, and plopped down onto a toilet, taking a deep breath and looking at the time on his phone. One hour. If he stayed one hour then they’d have ordered food and should be leaving or nearly leaving. The restaurant staff wouldn’t get upset if he sat for only a few minutes without ordering and maybe they’d be finished anyway—or maybe he’d just text and say he wasn’t feeling well.

Hinata sat for a moment, smelling the lemon scent of whatever cleaner had been recently used by the janitorial staff, half-hoping any of his teammates would walk through the bathroom door and half-worrying about what he’d say if they did. He unzipped his bag and pulled out his boxed lunch, used to how he’d have to balance it carefully on his lap as he ate with chopsticks.

Eating alone in the bathroom wasn’t too bad—he only needed to once a month or so—it’s not like his friends went out to lunch that often. Once or twice a year, he saved enough to splurge on a restaurant meal; only, he always felt guilty after. A meal at a restaurant was three meals at home for his family, and two meals was a pair of new volleyball kneepads or a week his mother could actually rest instead of exhausting herself at work. His teammates mostly assumed he had stomach issues anyway so they didn’t worry when he spent large amounts of time in the bathroom.

Hinata nibbled on a mushroom and checked his phone again—eating alone wasn’t too bad… just lonely.

After he had finished eating and was fidgeting with the volleyball shoes in his bag, Kageyama texted him, _If I have to come fish you out of the toilet, there will be hell to pay and I’m going to count it in my win tally against you._

Hinata smiled. He settled for replying that he’d meet Kageyama in the gym, that he was on his way but saw these pork buns on the street that looked too good to resist and ended up spending all of his money so couldn’t come to the restaurant.

 _Idiot,_ came Kageyama’s reply. _See you in twenty._

Hinata barreled out of the bathroom, across the school, and to the gym doors. He took a deep breath. Another year, another chance at nationals, he was vice captain, and he got to play with the best partner in the world—Kageyama. Money and scouting be darned—he was lucky to have what he had.


	2. Oikawa I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes non-graphic child abuse.

_Oikawa, Junior High: Grade 9_

Most of the relationships in Oikawa’s life were built slowly and carefully.

His friendship with Iwaizumi, for example. His parents first had Iwaizumi’s family over for dinner when Oikawa was five and they moved into the house next door. Iwaizumi, well mannered at the time, kept peeking over his plate at both Oikawa and Oikawa’s sister, Emiko, as the parents chatted.

Iwaizumi’s parents, both doctors, made a good enough impression on Oikawa’s parents, that Iwaizumi was allowed back the next week for a play-date. Iwaizumi and Oikawa played with trains as Emiko built the track. Oikawa was eager to have a friend, but had learned that sooner or later his parents would prohibit more play-dates with any playmate his age (Oikawa thought at the time they had done something bad, but Emiko later told him more often then not it was the parents who caused offense). So Oikawa was careful, only shared his ‘normal’ trains, and was polite to Iwaizumi.

For six months this continued until something happened that had never happened before—Oikawa was invited to Iwaizumi’s house. Even then Oikawa was careful with how much he shared, terrified that Iwaizumi might be taken away. It took two years and a growing interest in Iwaizumi’s father’s old volleyball videos for their friendship to become solidified beyond the reach of Oikawa’s parents.

Oikawa’s relationship with his sister had gone through phases—he adored her as a small child, resented her before she left for college, and then missed her terribly when she was gone and married and never lived at home again. It was months after she’d married that they were able to rebuild the trust they once had.

However, unlike his relationships with his sister and best friend, unlike the half-a-dozen other relationships he carefully cultivated, Oikawa could clearly recall the instant his relationship with Kageyama was defined during his final year in primary school.

It was during a non-tournament game against Akiu High, just a practice game Coach had arranged, and Oikawa’s nerves were in overdrive. His father would be watching. For years his father wouldn’t get Oikawa a volleyball tutor or let him join a second team like Iwaizumi; today was the chance for Oikawa to prove that volleyball was worth it, that he was worth it.

“You okay? You look worse than Emiko did when she was pregnant and sick all the time.”

Oikawa smiled and said dramatically, “Why, Iwaizumi-kun, I’m touched by your concern. But you need-not fret over your beloved setter.”

Stone-faced, Iwaizumi turned away to practice with their libero, Tashiro, and left Oikawa to finish warming up with the other third-years.

After the initial game setup fanfare—captains shaking hands, bowing to the opposing team, nonsense that usually dragged out for Oikawa but today sped by at warp speed—Oikawa dared a glance at the stands.

His father wasn’t there. Oikawa got into his starting position.

The first game was intense, close, and finished with a loss, but Coach had of the first years playing from the start. A good showing, considering the tools Oikawa had to work with. Iwaizumi hadn’t even played. Coach was having the third years start in the second game and spoke to the team about the line-up changes and potential substitutions. Oikawa noted it looked like Akiu High was doing the same.

Before the second game, Oikawa checked the stands again.

Dressed in a black business suit, his father stood with folded arms in a sea of empty seats. A young, suited, foreign man with dark hair stood next to his father and spoke rapidly. The younger man wasn’t looking at the court at all. Oikawa’s father stared directly at Oikawa. Oikawa was tempted to give him a wink or an ironic solute, but no… today was the day he had to prove himself mature and reliable, so he only gave his father a solemn nod.

The game began. Oikawa thought he could feel his father’s gaze on the back of his head. Tashiro received the opponent’s serve and Oikawa set the ball steadily to Toobetsu, a wing spiker. With a resounding slam, the first points went to Kitagawa Daiichi.

Iwaizumi served to score another point. Akiu returned the rally on Iwaizumi’s next serve, and feeling confident, Oikawa set to Kindaichi, one of the two first years Coach had started for this game. He was promptly blocked—stuffed, even.

Oikawa blinked. He hadn’t seen the blocker—one of the substitutions this game that Akiu had made—and the blocker, while taller than Kindaichi, wasn’t that tall. He had long, messy hair with a savage grin that he turned on Oikawa after the play. He looked like the long-lost child of a _Flinstone_.

Oikawa scored on the next play, with a set to Iwaizumi, but the following play, the feral kid stuffed his spiker—this time Toobetsu—again. The kid smirked at Oikawa after the play and said, “I can see where you’re going to set the ball before it even touches your fingers.”

“Amazing you can see anything with that rat’s nest hanging in your eyes,” Oikawa replied, maintaining a cool tone.

The kid’s smile widened. “I’ll show you amazing.”

Over the next several plays, Oikawa’s sets were shut down more often than not. The kid was fast, and in the front row always seemed to get in front of Oikawa’s spikers in time, even from the opposite side of the court. Only Iwaizumi seemed able navigate in the air around the blocks.

When Oikawa used Iwaizumi to squeeze a close point through and bring the score back to even, he looked up at the stands again. Did his father understand the strategizing Oikawa did to make that play work? Did he see how hard Oikawa was working? Or did he see nothing at all? His father watched on, but was too far away for Oikawa to decipher his expression. The foreign man by his side watched the court as well now, but seemed to still be talking to his father.

“Aww, daddy came to watch?” the feral kid taunted from across the court.

Oikawa wanted to tear the net apart, tie the kid up with it, hang him from the gym rafters, and beat him like a piñata. Iwaizumi shoved his side. “Cool it,” he said, but Oikawa only felt a wave of self-loathing. He _had_ to beat this kid.

He set to Iwaizumi again, and while Iwaizumi pushed the ball past the blockers, past the damn kid, their defenders easily picked off the spike and returned the ball with a slam to score another point. Oikawa was up to serve.

He took a deep breath and tossed the ball up.

_“Sometimes you need to put ‘em in their place.”_ Oikawa’s father’s voice rung in his ears, the memory abrupt, but Oikawa _felt_ it, _felt_ what his father had meant when he hit the ball.

The ball hit the net and fell to the ground.

The wild kid gave Oikawa a thumbs up from the back row.

The referee blew a whistle, and Oikawa turned to his bench, dread making his stomach heavy. Coach held up his number and was substituting Kageyama in for his position.

Kageyama smiled at him as she walked to the court—a cute, nervous half-smile that _most_ would have returned with a smile of their own, _most_ would have wanted to see her smile with teeth. But Oikawa returned her smile with a bitter glare.

_That_ was the moment that defined their relationship. He’d known Kageyama (some of that time, known of Kageyama) for years before that moment, but it was then that their relationship, for better or worse—who was he kidding, it was for worse—was defined.

After Oikawa was substituted out to the bench, he had watched his father up in the stands. His father watched the rest of the game, which Kita Daiichi won, as well as the third game—another win—but Oikawa was never substituted back in.

When his father drove him home after the scrimmage, Oikawa didn’t have to ask—there would never be club volleyball for Oikawa, nor a private tutor, nor extra lessons. After his father had stepped out of the car into the garage, his father asked, “Who was the first-year who took your place in the game?”

“Her name is Kageyama Tobio,” Oikawa answered, feeling bile in his throat.

“A _girl_ took your place?” Oikawa suddenly found himself shoved up against the car, his father’s hand digging into his collarbone. “I’d thought you simply had misplaced hope of a volleyball career, but now I see this was another one of your little rebellions. Your antics will not be tolerated. There will be consequences if you waste my time again.”

Oikawa couldn’t help it—he laughed loudly. And once he started he couldn’t seem to stop.

His father shoved him into the car once more and when that didn’t stop Oikawa from laughing, he pushed Oikawa so hard, Oikawa flailed, grabbed at and missed the car, and fell to the garage floor. When the car alarm sounded, his father simply turned it off with his keyset.

Still, Oikawa giggled. Small hiccups between giggles as he tried to stop. He was sprawled on the ground, his hands filthy and he had somehow torn the bottom of his sweatpants.

“Clean up before dinner.” Just before his father slammed the door to the house, Oikawa heard him mutter, “A fucking girl.”

It was several minutes before Oikawa stopped laughing, gasping for breath has he held his sides. He sat there, curled on the garage floor until his breath was even and eyes were dry, and he felt ready to face the fucking monsters he’d be forced to dine with.

* * * * * *

_Present_

The office buzzed in the quiet way efficient offices buzz—with paper shuffles and non-stop typing. There had to be some twenty employees in the room, each separated by tidy cubicles with low separation dividers, but there was neither a whisper of discussion nor errant ring of an employee’s cell phone to be heard. Of course, discussions were discouraged and cell phones were only to be used on lunch break per the EO employee handbook, which Oikawa had read only to understand the loopholes, but now Oikawa blatantly violated article four section three of the handbook by loitering by his sister’s desk in a non-lunch hour.

The only enforcer of said handbook, Oikawa senior, known to his employees as Oikawa Hitoshi, could be seen on the other side of the glass office wall, across the hall, in a conference room through yet another equally long—and in Oikawa Toru’s opinion, equally ostentatious and intrusive—glass wall. He talked to a foreigner, possibly a Russian from Oikawa’s non-expert, vision-impaired perspective, at the conference table, occasionally gesturing at the office across the hall.

Oikawa was the only employee—either brave or stupid enough—to not look busy in the EO Headquarters while in view of Oikawa senior.

“Who is he?” Oikawa asked his sister, squinting. He should have worn his damn glasses. “The Russian dude chatting with our dear father. Looks kind of familiar.”

“Abramon-san, an _American_ producer, interested in bringing a martial arts television show to Japan.” Emiko didn’t deign Oikawa with even a glance, continuing to type rapidly. Oikawa didn’t know what she _could possibly_ be typing—she’d automated half of the companies accounting programs ages ago and the last time he’d poked around on the EO network, he became half convinced all of her work would get done for her even if she ditched Japan for a nice remote island for half of the year. He would have already ditched in her shoes.

“American, huh. I’m sure pops will be thrilled with that—don’t we get half a dozen karate pitches a year?”

Someone a few cubicle rows back—Oikawa bet it was Tadashi-san because it was always Tadashi-san—cleared his throat. Oikawa senior was known on occasion to take his anger out on anyone in his near vicinity when one employee fucked up, and Oikawa went out of his way to be that fuckup more often than not. Tadashi-san was _politely_ requesting that Toru get back to work before Oikawa senior showered his esteemed displeasure unto the entire office.

“Did you need something, _Oikawa-sama_? I believe you’re scheduled to deliver extra batteries for the video equipment to the _We Dig It_ set this afternoon.” The formal address gave away her annoyance more than any inflection of her tone.

His own sister was siding with Tadashi. It was going to be _that_ sort of day.

“Just father’s schedule for the week—you know how Soekawa-sama is too busy to speak with me.” Oikawa made up the lie on the spot. Soekawa was his father’s secretary and happened to be the father of some nobody from his year who’d played volleyball at Shiratorizawa. When Oikawa had first join the EO _family_ two years ago, he had simply requested that Soekawa provide milk bread at every meeting he was required to attend. Soekawa had outright ignored Oikawa ever since and was at least one Toru-grovel away from speaking terms.

In the conference room across the hall, his father made eye contact with Oikawa. Oikawa smiled widely and leaned further into Emiko’s desk so he was practically sitting on the surface, knowing this would tick-off his father further.

“Father’s calendar is always available on the EO intranet, but here is a paper copy for this week.” Emiko handed him a paper.

Oikawa crumpled the paper and stuffed it in a pocket, all while his father watched. “Thanks, Sis. Toodles!”

His father, stuck with the American client in the conference room, could only watch as Oikawa loosened his tie and sauntered through the main hallway sandwiched between offices to the elevator, the paper sticking haphazardly out of his suit pants.

Oikawa got an absolute thrill of turning Oikawa Hitoshi’s wrath onto any and every one of the suck-ups and ass kissers at EO. The ones that were bound to scramble for his father’s attention the second he was done with his client, who would therefore take the brunt of his displeasure because they were there in person and Oikawa would not be.

By the time Oikawa interacted with his father in private—which could be days now that Oikawa had a schedule of every place his father would be, and therefore Oikawa would avoid, for the next week—he’d have stacked up so many transgressions that his father couldn’t possibly hold him accountable for every one. His father would never punish him in front of his co-workers anyway; after all, Oikawa Toru was set to take his father’s place as president of the EO Network when Oikawa Hitoshi decided to retire.

At least, that’s what his father had implied rather often to the EO workplace over the past two years.

And yet, his father never consulted Oikawa with this plan. Sure, ever since Oikawa achieved top test scores in high school, his father began boasting about how intelligent his son was, how he would follow in Oikawa Hitoshi’s footsteps and be running the EO Network in no time. But his father had never bothered asking if that’s what Oikawa Toru wanted.

Oikawa stopped on the second floor of EO’s offices to pick up the extra batteries before exiting EO Headquarters—winking at Anika, who worked the front desk—and hopping into a standard EO vehicle. He let the driver know he needed to be taken to the _Sendai Soba_ practice facility.

Oikawa flipped through his phone during the ride. There was a message from Iwaizumi asking if Oikawa could practice with him and his teammates over the weekend, something about most of his team coming to town for a the week. Oikawa accepted with only a slight pang of jealousy.

Being exposed daily to the _Sendai Soba_ , the newest men’s professional Japanese volleyball team, along with his best friend playing for the _F.C. Tokyo_ for over a year went a long way in quenching his envy of professionals. Or at least he had a lot practice pushing those feelings down.

He wasn’t good enough, after all; that’s what the recruiters told him over and over—he didn’t have the technical skills needed to excel in the Japan Volleyball League. And so Oikawa was stuck—his dream of playing professional volleyball stomped deep into the pile of shit some people call earth, his cushy job as a ‘producer’ of _We Dig It_ closer to a glorified errand boy, while his father pretended that he was a perfect son, a natural leader, an exemplary employee without ever giving him real work to accomplish.

Not that he wanted to accomplish anything for his bastard of his father or the shitty EO family.

Fuck. He was spiraling and it was only Tuesday.

Today was the second day of official practice for the _Sendai Soba_ , but given that yesterday—the first day—had been the Volleyball League finals and the team had spent the whole day watching and analyzing those games, today would be when the good, sellable shit happened. He was sure Kageyama Naoki, executive producer of _We Dig It_ had everything set up and under control.

The show was based off of and styled similarly to an American show called _Hard Knocks_ that Naoki—Oikawa refused to refer to him by his surname for obvious reasons—had watched and followed closely for years. _Hard Knocks_ followed an American football team’s pre-season, with particular focus on the players—Naoki wanted to do the same, but with professional Japanese volleyball. He sold the idea to the EO Network during Oikawa’s final year of high school. Given Oikawa’s volleyball experience, his first assignment with EO had been to ensure that _We Dig It_ ‘embodied the values and morals’ of the EO family.

So, Oikawa made sure the cameramen on the _We Dig It_ set zoomed in on any player who had taken his shirt off, and bam, _We Dig It_ ’s first season was a success. The season had covered the _F.C. Tokyo_ , Iwaizumi’s team, and Oikawa had taken a perverse sort of pleasure in trying to rile him up—especially in the locker room when he was more likely to be, you guessed it, shirtless—in front of the cameras.

Working with Kageyama Naoki had been surprisingly pleasant given the demeanor of his daughter. Naoki was quiet, but had an air of authority few quiet people could duplicate. His crew functioned like the crew of a well-manned ship, everyone in their places at the right time with only the occasional newbie coffee boy asking questions, and as captain of the ship, Naoki led had led his crew slowly but steadily to one success after another. He didn’t have any big hits, but always produced shows that made money proportional to the budget and staff allowed, and that had made him well regarded in his father’s eyes.

Naoki also seemed to know just how to please Oikawa senior; he listened, acted humbly, and praised his father’s network when appropriate. Just the sort of demur attitude assholes like his father thrived on. Oikawa could never tell if Naoki was very oblivious or very shrewd; Oikawa had once mistakenly thought his daughter conniving and clever, only to discover she was simply socially awkward and had the emotional intelligence of a chicken wing. He supposed the jury was still out on Naoki, but Oikawa—despite his experience with Kageyama Tobio—still erred on the side of assuming he was playing the company politics very subtly, not stupidly.

Naoki was also one of the few people in Japan who seemed to take Oikawa Toru seriously. Oikawa had flippantly made the suggestion during his first day on set that they ought to turn the thermostat up a few degrees so the volleyball team would sweat and look like they were working harder. Naoki had agreed immediately, much to Iwaizumi’s displeasure.

Oikawa had an eye for catching disagreements among _F.C. Tokyo_ teammates, and for prodding the players to open up in all the wrong ways—shitty, bastard Jedi mind-tricks, Iwaizumi had openly called them—which Naoki took advantage of in filming and editing.

Naoki went out of his way to include Oikawa in the occasional big storyboard decision, which was pleasant—and assuming Naoki was indeed a subtle man, was done so that Naoki could claim to Oikawa senior that Toru had signed off on and engaged in all decisions—but entirely unnecessary. It was very clear that although Oikawa thought he perhaps enhanced the show, Naoki’s team could handle everything whether or not he was on set. And Oikawa was only on set for about fifty percent of practices; his father had a number of other menial and extravagant tasks to keep Oikawa otherwise occupied.

The car arrived at the _Sendai Soba_ practice facility, and Oikawa sized it up after providing parking instructions to the driver. The facility was smaller than _F.C. Tokyo_ ’s, but that was to be expected. At the request of Naoki, Oikawa had visited this facility briefly after the first official announcement of the new _Sendai Soba_ team entering the V. League, along with three other possible facilities. Naoki had known immediately after the announcement that the team he’d want the cameras to follow this year was the _Soba_ team—after all, there would be very few opportunities to follow a team completely new to professional volleyball. He also had a few connections he could pull if one facility, say, had better natural lighting than the others. Indeed, this facility had windows lining the top of the gym, with a pleasant southern exposure.

Oikawa entered the building entrance, which was still undergoing a few renovations. He followed the signs for the _Miwa Production Company_ —Naoki’s company—which led him to a room about the size of a classroom, with one wall lined completely with four large television screens and the others lined with cork boards full of pinned story ideas and white boards listing personnel assignments.

Naoki stood in the center of the room, pointing at various screens while directing technicians to try different views of the court and correct for lighting differences. He wore a formal business suit nearly the same shade of grey as the streaks in his hair. He looked rather stressed and was talking heatedly to the crew, which was atypical for Naoki, whose emotions typically fell in the stoic to mildly friendly range.

His expression reminded Oikawa of another Kageyama scowling and telling him, _“You’re not boyfriend material.”_

Repress, repress, repress might just be his new Tuesday mantra.

As Oikawa entered the room, Naoki’s expression brightened considerably, like he’d just discovered a lost treasure. He handed the director—an anti-social older woman named Norimune Kaida, who the crew called _The Dragon_ because of her temper—his headset and paper pad. She eyed Oikawa with disdain, but he didn’t take it personally; she eyed everyone with disdain.

“Oikawa Toru, excellent. Just who we needed to see,” Naoki said. They bowed briefly in greeting and Naoki gave him a firm handshake.

“Here are the extra batteries—” Before Oikawa could ask where Naoki wanted them, an assistant lifted them from his hands, and Naoki ushered Oikawa out of the makeshift production room down the hallway.

“I expect you’ve been well,” Naoki said.

“Of course. Business has been good for EO.”

The hall they walked down was dull, with lockers and various doors to offices—Oikawa wondered if the building had been converted from a school; he had only briefly toured the facility courts, not the rest of the building. As they walked Naoki made small talk, highly unusual for the man. In fact, the most unusual bit was—

“After you settle into a routine here with _Sendai Soba_ , I insist you must come over for dinner,” Naoki said. Yes, there it was. The dinner invite. Oikawa was surprised it hadn’t come as soon as he walked through the entrance; Oikawa could only infer from all of the past invitations that Naoki was determined to set up Oikawa with his most disagreeable daughter. It was the one operation Naoki had zero subtly about.

During the past year, he had been able to turn down the majority of invitations by simply saying he was staying in Tokyo for work and arranging his schedule so he rarely returned to Sendai at the same time as Naoki. Still, he couldn’t persuade his way out of all of the dinners and had two suffer through two exceedingly awkward affairs with the Kageyama family.

Although he would be unable to hide behind location-based excuses this year, Oikawa was armed with another defense. “My schedule is quite full, unfortunately, with the new responsibility EO has given me, Kageyama-sama. But I sincerely appreciate the gesture.”

“Ah, yes! Your father told me personally, and I am quite eager to hear more about these new responsibilities over dinner. Your father also seemed thrilled at the prospect of you getting to know my daughter,” Naoki said in such a delightful tone, Oikawa could almost believe Naoki wasn’t coercing him into a dinner with Kageyama Tobio. “I have told your father’s assistant—Soekawa-san, wasn’t it?—to arrange a dinner time for us monthly. My wife is very excited to have you try her new stew recipe.”

Well. He’d underestimated Naoki’s persistence on this matter and had been completely unprepared and outmaneuvered. “Of course, Kageyama-san. I’m gratified you took such thoughtful measures.”

This entire encounter raised the hairs on Oikawa’s arms and set off alarm bells in his head. Naoki was _never_ this persistent and rarely this friendly.

“On to business, right?” Naoki stopped walking in front of what appeared to be the entrance to a bathroom and turned to Oikawa, putting a hand on his shoulder. Oikawa _hated_ that behind his glasses, Naoki’s eyes were the same dark blue coloring as Kageyama Tobio’s. “There’s been an unfortunate accident.”

Oikawa kept his expression firmly neutral. An accident typically would be an early Christmas gift for a reality TV show like _We Dig It_.

“Perhaps you remember,” Naoki continued. “The starting and backup setters for the _Soba_ were a pair of brothers, recruited from Australia. Had Japanese roots though from their mother. Well, unfortunately, they were caught intoxicated with and in possession of cannabis two days ago. Of course, they have been immediately expelled from the team.”

Oh. Oikawa could see where this was going.

“This is highly confidential of course—we’ve told the crew and the majority of the team that there was a car accident. If this gets out, we risk _We Dig It_ getting cancelled all together. However, the _Sendai Soba_ needs setters to practice with while the recruitment team signs on new team members. The third-string setter is on paternity leave and will be back next week.

“But in the meantime, practice must go on. We arranged training this week with the _F.C. Tokyo_ as a bit of a send-off from last year, to give the viewers some continuity from last season as the new characters are introduced this season. Ending the week, of course, with an exhibition match.”

The bathroom door slammed open, the spring mechanism on the door clearly broken. Oikawa was fairly unsurprised to find Iwaizumi in the doorway, dressed in warm-ups and holding a small duffel bag. Iwaizumi looked briefly stunned, but Oikawa was pretty sure that was more due to the door slam than Oikawa’s presence.

“You’d like me to set for the _Sendai Soba_ for the week?” Oikawa asked.

“Until two new setters can be recruited,” Naoki corrected. He adjusted his glasses. “If you are up to the challenge, of course, on top of your EO responsibilities.”

Oikawa felt like he could hear his heart pounded loudly in his ears. While he wanted to be cynical, wanted to remind himself this _changed nothing,_ he couldn’t help but feel: _this was his chance_. “Of course.” Oikawa heard himself agree to the proposition.

“Excellent,” Naoki said. Perhaps some level excitement was visible in his expression because Naoki next warned, “This is television. This is drama—remember that. Cameras are already rolling.”

Iwaizumi gave Naoki a small salute as he turned to return to the production room. “I was just coming to get you,” Iwaizumi said, grinning madly. He threw the duffel bag at Oikawa, which Oikawa caught easily.

“You could have told me,” Oikawa said, but he was grinning now, too.

Iwaizumi shrugged. “I stopped by your house to get your shoes and some warm-ups. Unfortunately, I just _couldn’t_ find a damn shirt for you.” His grin widened, wolfishly. “I guess the cameras will have an excellent view of your sweaty chest. I promise, I set the thermostat just for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait. Oikawa was as difficult to write as he is as a character, and I ended up writing way more that I'll put into later chapters.
> 
> I'm particularly interested in feedback on differentiating voices and if the different characters are coming through.
> 
> If you're confused, The Difference covers some background, but I tried to ensure it wasn't necessary to read. This story will diverge from cannon, particularly in some of the mid to late chapters, because these ideas all came from before the Manga was complete. For example, Kageyama is an only child.
> 
> I had lots of feels when writing this. Note that none of Oikawa's backstory excuses his (historically) shitty behavior. I do not condone violence or mean-spirited-ness.
> 
> Thank you to every one of the readers and reviewers - you guys have kept me motivated! Stay healthy and safe, and I hope this brought some brightness to your day.

**Author's Note:**

> The prequel to this story, The Difference, is not necessary to read to understand this story, but gives some nice context. The Difference is somewhat cannon-compliant and this story will be as well.
> 
> If you are here for the sex, you may have to wait a few chapters - personally, I enjoy writing the build-up of relationships.
> 
> If you are here for the volleyball, this story might not be for you. While all three characters are fairly volleyball-obsessed, it is more the stage of the story rather than core to the plot. Don't expect to see a ton of action-packed volleyball games (these will happen, but often off screen).
> 
> Each chapter will be from the perspective of Hinata, Kageyama, or Oikawa. Most will start with a flashback. This is why the beginning of each section will have a name (whose third-person limited perspective) and a time (either when in the past it occurred or present). Some of the flashbacks will correlate to scenes that happened in The Difference, but I haven't decided how I'll designate that - maybe just in the notes of the chapter.
> 
> Feedback is welcome! This will be my first time writing from Hinata and (next chapter) Oikawa's perspectives so I've tried to differentiate tone, but I've found it hard to gage how well I've captured Hinata's essence. Also, let me know if perspectives designation is confusing.
> 
> I will attempt to post monthly. Unlike the last story, I've got every chapter planned, but as most writers know, sometimes characters write themselves in different directions than you were planning. I've got a lot of setup in these first few chapters but hopefully it doesn't feel too slow. I've really enjoyed writing this so far so I hope you enjoy reading!


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